


Dodola

by besidemethewholedamntime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drunk Fitz, F/M, Friendship, Rain Dance, based on HIMYM slightly, i'm sure you can guess where this is going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 18:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: When Jemma's going away for a camping trip with a guy who obviously doesn't deserve her, Fitz decides to make it rain. (FitzSimmons at SciOps AU)





	Dodola

“I’m still going to go on the date, Fitz.”

Fitz looks up from his microscope and turns slowly to look at Jemma standing next to him, wringing her hands together in what he has learned is one of her nervous ticks. He smiles at her if only so she doesn’t know his heart has sunk so low that he’s surprised he can’t feel it in his shoes.

“I uh thought you weren’t going anymore. Something about him not having the decency to call you before he stood you up last week.”

It’s a lot more than just something, and it takes a Herculean amount of effort for Fitz to speak lightly of an event which caused his best-friend to stumble home, more than a little drunk, in tears and to spend the entire night on the sofa sobbing into his side, blubbering occasionally into his sweater something about not being good enough for anyone. Even thinking about the event makes his blood boil and so Jemma doesn’t see, he quickly looks back down the microscope at the tiny little robot which may be capable of delivering drugs to a specific target site in the body, as long as he can maximise the holding chamber.

“I know I said that but he phoned me last night to explain why he didn’t call and his reasons seem quite legitimate and everyone deserves a second chance, don’t you think?”

To be honest, Fitz doesn’t think this guy deserves anything from Jemma, perhaps only a kick in the arse for being so bloody rude and leaving her alone in a diner for three hours but he’s not about to say so. Bracing himself for the expression on her face, he looks away from the microscope once more.

“Where are you guys going this time?” He asks and is more than slightly relieved when the look of nervousness on her face is replaced by one of excitement.

“Camping!” She claps her hands together. “Oh, it’s going to be so fun. Imagine it: sleeping outside in the open, getting to witness night-time fauna first-hand even if it is only in the local area and not somewhere exotic. Perhaps I should take my specimen jars, just in case I happen upon something of a great discovery.”

A feeling of utter fondness takes root in Fitz’s chest but he can’t quite fathom why. “Simmons, I think on a date this guy is going to want to do something other than collect specimens.”

“Oh, I know that.” She waves a hand dismissively. “But the mysteries of sex are no longer a mystery to me, whereas the mysteries of the local night-time wildlife still are.”

Now he has had enough. “Right, Simmons, this is all er _fascinating_ but I really want to get a working prototype of this model,” he gestures to the microscope before him,” and I still need to maximise the holding chamber so maybe we can discuss this later, yeah?”

Fitz has absolutely no intention of discussing this later but for now it seems to satisfy her. “Yes, yes, of course. That’s also why I was here, actually, to discuss if there was anything I could do for you on that end. I have a couple of different formulas here that will not be altered by the material of your device and…”

-x-

Fitz isn’t opposed to the idea of Jemma going on _a_ date per se, it’s just that he’s vehemently opposed to this idea of her going on _this_ date with a guy who stood her up and managed to get a second chance by producing a measly excuse about a car battery and a lack of charge in his phone.

It’s a night where Jemma is having a night with one of her friends from the academy and he’s been driven to join in on after work drinks with some other guys from SciOps. It doesn’t take long for him to get drunk enough that his face feels numb and to start spilling the details of his current problem: how to get Jemma Simmons to not go on a date with an arsehole.

“And it’s not like I can just _tell_ her that she shouldn’t go on the date. She’ll start saying that I’m trying to control her and as a best friend I should be supporting her,” he slurs. “I _do_ support her, but not when she’s being an eejit and overlooking his personality in favour of his ‘symmetrical body’.”

When he’s this drunk he starts to break out the Scots language that he used to hear on a daily basis back in Glasgow. Soon he’ll start singing Flower of Scotland and go on about the trials and tribulations of Scottish Football.

The guys start to call out various solutions to his problem.

“Tell Simmons you heard a rumour that he has a nasty STD,” shouts Lewis, a curly red-headed Geophysicist who has just downed five shots in a row.

“Nah, that won’t work. She doesn’t listen to ‘workplace gossip’.” Fitz does the quotation marks and everything. Or he thinks he does but as well as his face, his fingers have become a bit numb now too.

“Douse all his camping stuff in hydrochloric acid!” Shouts Mitchell, a physiologist whose absolutely ginormous muscles make others frequently think he’s a field agent. “I have access to the stuff! We could go do it now!”

His glee disconcerts Fitz but only a smidge because he’s downed another shot and the words to Flower of Scotland are starting to rise, unbidden, into his mind. “He’ll just buy new stuff, Mitch. According to Simmons, his parents are loaded.”

“How about we get my sister to kill him?” Suggests Lee, whose dark suggestion sounds totally out of place coming from the completely stereotypical looking mathematician whose glasses have slipped down too far on his nose. “She’s practically a ninja and she’s always offered to off anyone I wanted.” He shrugs and takes off his glasses to polish them on his stripy tie.

“Eh, you know what, Lee? I think we’ll label that option as _last resort_ and maybe get some therapy for you and your sister, okay?” Fitz surveys the rest of the members of the group. “Anyone got any other ideas?” He shouts. “Come on! Anyone? So far the best option we’ve got is ‘dousing camping stuff in hydrochloric acid’.”

“What about a rain dance?” A voice pipes up.

“A what now?”

“A rain dance,” the voice repeats and Fitz squints to see it belongs to Caleb, a tall but exceedingly gentle and quiet biochemist. “A dance to make it rain. They can’t go camping if it’s raining now, can they?”

Fitz concedes he has a point, even though the Jemma Simmons he knows would probably take enough waterproofs to protect an entire village and would probably be very interested in documenting local fauna during the rain. Still, her companion might not be so into camping in the rain and it’s a touch better than dissolving equipment in hydrochloric acid.

“D’you know how to do one?” Fitz slurs and Caleb nods but before Fitz can ask anymore Graham – a fellow Scotsman and one who knows how Fitz gets when he gets this drunk – begins to play Flower of Scotland on his phone and Fitz, being the ever faithful Scot at heart and compelled by the alcohol to be loyal to his homeland, gets up from his chair and raises a glass and begins to sing, albeit terribly out of tune:

“ _Oh flower of Scotland, when will we seeee your like againnnn…”_

-x-

The next morning Fitz wakes up with a dreadful hangover but he’s proud of himself because at least he made it to his own bed. The night before however is a total blank on his mind, and he asks Jemma when she comes in to give him water and painkillers along with some toast, what happened.

“Well,” she says smirking, and he groans because he recognises that smirk. It means she’s about to get all self-righteous on his sorry arse. “You phoned me at 2 am, completely drunk, and you asked me to come and get you from ‘hell on earth’ which of course meant that British pub that you hate so much. I walked in and found you debating with that Physiologist who is quite frankly a little bit too interested in dissolving things in stomach acid about whether or not he would be willing to melt someone’s face off for you. And so, before you got arrested, I dragged you back here where you threw up in our bathroom for forty-five minutes – and not accurately, might I add – before you passed out here.”

“Eughhh,” he groans. “I’m sorry, Jemma. I’ll clean it up, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, setting down the water and the toast before popping out two pills and leaving them too. “I cleaned it up. Besides, I already have my revenge.”

Then she beams him a smile before walking out of the room. It isn’t until later when he goes to the bathroom and looks in the mirror for the first time that he sees the huge saltire painted all over his face and, thinking about all the pictures she must have taken, Fitz fights the urge to be sick again.

-x-

Suddenly it’s the following Friday and it’s the weekend of her date.

“What time are you leaving?” He asks her in the morning whilst in the process of burning toast. “You going to be needing dinner?”

Fitz tries to ask innocently because after all, it is his Friday to pay for the takeaway and if pressed further then he could just say that this is why he’s asking. 

Jemma comes into the kitchen in a flurry, because she might be going camping tonight but she’s Jemma Simmons and so everything must be perfect _right now._  “Uh no, I don’t think I’ll need dinner. I think I’m having dinner at his which is why everything needs to be ready now.” She stills for a moment and her nose twitches. “Ugh, Fitz, are you burning toast again?  How many times do I have to tell you to watch the settings on the toaster?”

Completely distracted, Fitz says, “Well excuse me for not liking my toast so raw that it’s basically just warm bread.”

“Oh come on, that was one time, and it would’ve been fine if you hadn’t fiddled with the toaster-”

“-was _trying_ to make it more efficient-

“- can we not just have at least one appliance that you haven’t messed with-”

“-never any bloody thank you from you-”

“- oh here comes this again I swear-”

“-just like to be appreciated is all but no, that’s too much for some people-”

“How many times do I have to say it: you don’t get thanked for breaking things that were perfectly fine to begin with!” Jemma yells with finality. Then, glancing at her watch she sighs. “Great, now look at the time. Come on, you can share my bagel but we really have to get going. I don’t want to have any work hanging over me this weekend.”

And Fitz, who in the process of toast burning and the ensuing argument had forgotten all about the date, sighs and gathers up his things while muttering, “of course,” just loud enough to the words are out there, but quiet enough so she doesn’t hear.

-x-

It’s five in the afternoon and a completely inappropriate time to be at a bar. Fitz knows this, and yet as soon as work finished at four thirty it was the first place he could think of coming because if he’s here, getting stupidly drunk at a ridiculous hour, then he doesn’t have to think of Jemma having dinner and subsequently going camping with Mr Arsehole.

It’s while he’s getting drunk that he remembers the last time he was at a bar and from that he remembers that he still had his current dilemma and then what follows is memories of all of the suggestions offered up by his colleagues. He scrolls through them mentally in his mind. It’s far too late now to start a rumour about an STD, and same with dousing the camping equipment in acid. Fitz supposes he could still get Lee’s sister on the case, but he’s always been a bit squeamish and doesn’t really fancy getting done for murder when he feels there’s still so much he can give to the field of engineering.

Then Fitz remembers Caleb and his suggestion of the rain dance.

In his alcohol-riddled brain, this suggestion seems to make sense. Making it rain so Jemma can’t actually go camping in the first place seems ingenious. But how to perform a rain dance? And how to do it so it isn’t offensive to anyone? Can it even be done? Fitz decides to call on the person he thinks must be an expert on the subject. His clumsy thumbs try to scroll through his phone to find Caleb’s number.

“Hey, my man!” He shouts when his friend answers.

“Hi, Fitz,” Caleb says, a little unsure. “What’s up?”

“Why do people always say that? Why can’t it be ‘what’s down?’ what does up have to do more with how you’re doing than down?” Fitz says, side-tracked.

“Have you been drinking?” Caleb asks. “Fitz, it’s five-thirty. Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”

“Excellent!” Fitz shouts brightly. “Then you can help me with the problem.”

“What problem? Look, Annie’s tracking your phone just now. Stay where you are.”

“Ohhh Annie, is she your girlfriend?” Vague images of a brunette who works in Communications float through his mind. She’s very pretty, but she’s not Jemma.

Caleb audibly sighs, quite clearly done with Fitz. “You know she is.” There is an irate beeping on the other end of the phone. “Okay, I know where you are. Stay, Fitz. _Stay_ ,” he warns and then rings off.

So Fitz does stay at the bar, and orders another drink. It’s not as if his best-friend will be there when he gets home to tell him off and take pictures because she’ll be out with a selfish arse who doesn’t know how lucky he is to have a date with Jemma Simmons. Man, he’d like a date with Jemma Simmons.

A gasp escapes his mouth, because he has no idea where that thought came from. Jemma Simmons is his best-friend, his colleague, his work-partner and he absolutely only has platonic feelings for her. Extremely, very, absolutely platonic feelings. Fitz groans and allows his head to flop onto the cool stickiness of the bar, suddenly wishing he was very sober because sober Fitz doesn’t have these stupid thoughts about his best friend.

Caleb walks in twenty minutes later, scanning the room for only a second before spotting Fitz still with his head down.

“What’s all this?” He asks, looking down at his friend.

“Jemma’s going on a date,” Fitz mumbles into the wood. “She’s going on a date with this stupid meathead who isn’t good enough for her _at all._ ”

“Ah,” Caleb says, sitting down on a vacant stool next to him. “So she’s still going.”

“Yeah.” Then Fitz looks up at Caleb and squints at the light. “That’s why I needed your help; I wanted to do a rain dance to make it rain so she couldn’t go and it was your idea so I thought you could help.”

“Aw, Fitz,” Caleb says gently. “I was drunk as all hell, man. I don’t even know that much about rain dances, only what my grandma told me.”

“Your gran knew rain dances?”

Caleb chuckles. “Yes, she was Romanian. Always told me stories about the village she lived in as a kid. All I know about rain dances is that they were performed by young women covered in leaves and branches and they sang certain songs. I’m pretty sure they used it for legitimate reasons, Fitz, not so they could stop their friend from going on a date. Now, come on. I’ll take you home.”

“ _Best_ -friend,” Fitz mumbles under his breath but allows Caleb to help him up so he can be taken home.

-x-

Fitz is sitting in amongst a damp pile of leaves, trying to stick them to himself with tape unsuccessfully when Jemma finds him.

He doesn’t quite remember getting home from the bar, only Caleb gently leading him into the apartment, depositing him on the sofa and leaving a cup of coffee for him to drink so he could sober up. Then he had apologised but said he had to leave because tonight he was having dinner with Annie and her parents.

Fitz hadn’t drunk the coffee but had instead pondered about rain dances. It was just starting to get dark outside but it being dark didn’t mean it couldn’t rain and if he could just find some leaves and perform some kind of dance then maybe somebody, somewhere, would take pity on him and it would rain.

So he had drunkenly stumbled outside and found that the leaves on the tiny strip of grass in front of their apartment building had recently been raked into a huge pile. Going back for some tape he had come back out and tried to stick them to himself, but his drunken fingers felt heavy and his brain felt slow and the tape kept sticking to everything but the leaves and his shirt.

It’s like this, surrounded by damp, decaying leaves and a few rolls of tape that Jemma finds him.

“Jemma!” He greets, smiling at her. He tries to wave but the tape sticking his three middle fingers together makes it difficult.

“Fitz?” She asks, her eyebrows drawn together and a question mark all over her face.

“’S’me.” He nods once. The world spins a little. “What’re you doing here? You not s’posed to be camping?”

“Never mind about that.” Jemma shakes her head. “What on earth are you doing out here with leaves?”

Ashamed at being caught out, Fitz lowers his head and mumbles to the ground. “I was trying to make it rain.”

“You were trying to make it _rain?_ What the-” And then she comes closer, peering at him in the darkness and her nose wrinkles in what he thinks might be displeasure. “Are you _drunk_?”

“Just a teensy lil bit.” He holds up his thumb and forefinger and tries to visually demonstrate but his fingers still aren’t co-operating and he just ends up showing an ‘L’ sign at Jemma who frowns deeply.

“Come on, Fitz,” she sighs softly, and helps him get up and to brush the leaves off himself before allowing him to lean on her shoulder as she takes him upstairs to the apartment.

Once inside she deposits him on the sofa and makes a cup of coffee, but not making the mistake Caleb did and instead watches as he drinks it. When half the cup is gone, she comes to sit beside him.

“Now that you’re a bit soberer,” she begins, “do you mind telling me what was going on?”

“I wanted to make it rain so you didn’t have to go camping with _him,_ ” Fitz spits the word out of his mouth. “So I wanted to try a rain dance.”

The corners of Jemma’s mouth quirk up and Fitz really appreciates how hard she’s trying not to laugh. “A rain dance?”

“Seemed like a good idea when I was hammered,” he mumbles.  “Caleb suggested it at the bar and then I dunno, drunk me thought it was a good idea to try.”

“Fitz…” Jemma sighs but it’s her good sigh, the one that means she finds him amusing rather than the one that means he’s going to get a lecture on how stupid he’s been. “That was… incredibly sweet of you. Perhaps a little culturally insensitive, but sweet all the same.”

He’s so shocked. He was expecting a lecture on not interfering with her life because it’s her business who she dates and nobody else’s. “Really? You aren’t mad?”

“Of course not. I should have listened to you in the first place anyway, and then perhaps you wouldn’t have gotten this drunk.”

Fitz berates himself because it is only now he notices the slightly red rims of Jemma’s eyes and the little blotches on her face. “Jemma, what happened?”

“Apparently when he stood me up it was not due to car trouble or his phone being out of charge. He just didn’t want to go on a date with me but didn’t know how to say. He suggested camping thinking he just had cold feet but then tonight he said he realised that I was ‘too capable’ and didn’t make him feel like ‘enough of a man’.”

Wordlessly, Fitz lifts up his arm and Jemma falls into his side. It has always amazed him how well they fit together.

“I’m sorry, Jemma,” he murmurs into her hair. “He’s an arse.”

“He is,” she sniffs. “I should have listened to you last time.”

“No, you were right, to give him a second chance. It’s what makes you such a good person, and he’s blind that he can’t see that.”

She pulls away from him and swipes the tears from under her eyes. “Yes, well there shall be no third chance for him. Now, how about take-out? I believe it is your turn to pay this Friday.”

For a moment he feels something akin to pride. Jemma Simmons is strong as they come and he feels so lucky to know her.

He also knows fine well it’s his Friday to pay, but he can’t quite just let her assume so.

“Hey, you already said you didn’t want dinner.”

She looks unimpressed (but there’s a twitch of her lips that belies her amusement). “That was before. And it’s still technically Friday.”

“-can’t just waltz back in here expecting food-”

“-agreement was made months ago you can’t just back out whenever it suits you-”

“-at least get something we both like but no it’s always what you want-”

“-change the agreement whenever it suits-”

“Fine, fine, I’ll get the takeout,” he slumps in defeat, while Jemma goes to get the menu with a triumphant smile on her face.

Fitz doesn’t really mind, because he’d pay for takeout every Friday if it meant that every Friday Jemma was here with him, instead of with a guy who clearly doesn’t appreciate his best-friend the way she deserves to be appreciated. One day he knows he’ll have to let her go, but that’s in the future and for now, he’ll eat Chinese food and watch a movie with her until they both fall asleep.

Outside, a soft rain begins to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Based loosely on the 'How I Met Your Mother' episode where Ted tries to make it rain so Robin won't go on the work camping trip. Any information about rain dances was found on Wikipedia. Nothing about this work was meant to be seen as insensitive but if you find it to be so then let me know and I shall take it down. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
